


Gentle Hands

by Tehri



Series: Memories of Home [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Because Bungo needs a bit more love, Bilbo is a lot like his father, Bilbo's been on his own for some time, Bungo was important as fuck, Family is important as hell to hobbits, Of all the things they could both relate to, People focus so much on Belladonna that they forget Bilbo had a father, Talking about family, Thorin is trying to understand for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Bilbo’s parents came up in discussion, most hobbits in the Shire would speak of his mother Belladonna. Even Gandalf spoke mostly of her; but whenever the old wizard would mention Bungo, there would be a soft smile grazing Bilbo’s face. He had loved his mother dearly, there was no denying that, but in his eyes his father had been just as remarkable as her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentle Hands

Since their arrival at Beorn’s house, Bilbo had been a bit more quiet than usual. There had been a lot of talk about home and family lately, and homesickness had started to grasp him; he found himself thinking about dear old Bag End and his relatives more often than before. Well, some of them. But even those he disliked would be a welcome change by now, when he had spent months as a lone hobbit in a company of thirteen dwarves and a wizard.

He’d spent most of the day sitting by himself and watching his companions, smiling as he noticed little aspects of them that reminded him of his parents. The way they spoke, the way they laughed…

He could see a little of his father in most of them. His bright smile, his gentleness, his wisdom. Bungo had been a steady rock in Bilbo’s life for a long time, and had been lost earlier than most had expected at the age of eighty. And Bilbo, having just turned thirty-six, could only wish to have him back.

If Bilbo’s parents came up in discussion, most hobbits in the Shire would speak of his mother Belladonna. Even Gandalf spoke mostly of her; but whenever the old wizard would mention Bungo, there would be a soft smile grazing Bilbo’s face. He had loved his mother dearly, there was no denying that, but in his eyes his father had been just as remarkable as her.

 

Late afternoon found Bilbo sitting on the porch of the great wooden house, smoking his pipe and thoughtfully staring at the flowers in the garden, when Thorin quietly approached him. The dwarf seemed to have noticed the hobbit’s pensive mood for the day, and curiosity drove him to see if anything was wrong.

“Might I join you, master Baggins?” he asked, smiling slightly when Bilbo jumped in surprise and looked up. “My apologies, I hadn’t meant to startle you.”

“No, no, that’s quite alright,” Bilbo replied quickly. “I was just thinking…”

There was a moment of silence as Thorin filled and lit his pipe, hoping that his companion would elaborate a little bit. When that didn’t happen, he glanced at the hobbit and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, what were you thinking about?” he asked. “You’ve been rather quiet today.”

“I was thinking about home,” Bilbo quietly admitted. “And my relatives. My mum, and my da…”

There really hadn’t been much else to expect. Thorin knew all too well that Bilbo longed for his home in the peaceful little Shire; for all that he had been angry at the time, he had meant what he’d said in the mountains. The hobbit had been lost ever since he left home, and should never have come. He’d proven himself to the company, but he was not made for a journey like this.

The dwarf sighed, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips. He did know what it felt like to be homesick, to miss one’s family. He had family with him, his nephews and several cousins, however distant they may be. But Bilbo was there alone, cut off from all things familiar.

“It’s difficult to be away from family,” he said softly. “I’d count myself lucky to have some of mine with me, though apart from my nephews they’re not close…”

Bilbo let out a snort and shook his head.

“Yes, well, they count, don’t they?” he muttered. “You’ve got Balin and Dwalin, not to mention Óin and Glóin… Fili and Kili would follow you anywhere, that I’ve noticed…”

“Their mother didn’t want them to go,” Thorin confessed. “She protested all along, only gave in when they were already packed and standing by the gates.”

“Their mother?”

“Aye. My sister, Dís. She made me swear to bring myself and them back to her safe and unharmed.”

“Well, she’ll be sorely disappointed, I suppose.”

“Not so much disappointed as willing to cut my head off for endangering her children.”

“Sounds like a lovely lady,” Bilbo chuckled. “I hope I’ll get to meet her someday.”

“Ah yes, I can imagine that disaster,” Thorin groaned. “’Pardon me, dearest sister, but before you violently murder me, I’d like you to meet this hobbit’.”

Bilbo laughed and shook his head. Thorin peered at him and smiled slightly, glad to at least have managed to shake the hobbit out of his pensive mood.

“Your family sounds nice,” Bilbo said, looking back with a smile. “Do you have more siblings than your sister?”

For a moment, Thorin froze. He hadn’t spoken much of his family before, especially not since Azanulbizar. He and his sister and cousins had comforted each other after that disastrous battle, but some wounds never really healed.

“I did,” he said slowly. “I had a brother. Frerin.”

“Had?” Bilbo frowned and tilted his head. “You mean he’s…” He paused, eyes widening in surprise as he slowly reached out and placed one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Thorin, I didn’t-“

“No, you didn’t know,” Thorin sighed. “Frerin was… He was with us at the battle of Azanulbizar. Lost his life alongside Balin’s and Dwalin’s father.” His hand clenched around the bowl of his pipe. “He was younger than Fili and Kili are now. Only forty-eight, not even an adult…”

“Thorin, I’m-“

“You said. It’s alright.”

They were silent for a while again. Bilbo stared down at his feet, stubbornly avoiding Thorin’s eyes; Thorin simply kept his gaze on the hobbit, trying to think of a way to break the silence without sounding rude. He seemed to have a talent for peeving the hobbit, but now was not the time.

“What about you?” he finally asked. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child,” Bilbo said slowly. “Which is… well, it’s unusual in the Shire. Most married couples have at least three or four, but my mum…” He shook himself and sat up straight. “Mum had a very difficult time when she was with child, difficult enough to make the healer advice her not to have any more children.”

Thorin swore under his breath. Open mouth, insert foot, that was his every attempt at speaking to his companion. But before he could continue, Bilbo huffed a laugh and stretched.

“Well, when it was her health on the line, da simply sat her down and told her that they’d have to be careful,” he said. “She was lucky like that, to have someone like da who didn’t mind having only one child. In the long run, I think it was easier on both of them.” He grinned brightly at Thorin and shrugged. “You know, I think you would’ve liked my da.”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. That particular statement seemed rather contradictive. He hadn’t liked hobbits when he first saw them; too soft, too weak, never seen battle. They weren’t a race of warriors, and after all the dwarves of Erebor had gone through, seeing such a peaceful land with well-fed people who didn’t worry about anything felt quite unfair. He hadn’t liked Bilbo either when they first met – a fussy little hobbit that Gandalf insisted was right for this journey. And yet Bilbo had made it this far, was smiling at him and saying that he would have liked the hobbit’s father.

“I wonder about that,” Thorin muttered around the stem of his pipe. “If I had met him now, after all you have done for this company? Perhaps you would be right. But before, I doubt I would have looked at him with kinder eyes than I did you.”

“I think you would have liked him then,” Bilbo hummed. “He was quiet and gentle, more bookish and awkward than I’ve ever been. Kindness personified.” Another grin passed over his lips. “Though I mourn for those who crossed him or tried to bully him into doing something he didn’t want to do or thought was wrong. He might’ve been slow to anger, but once he _did_ get angry… Well, always the quiet ones and all that.”

Thorin chuckled softly.

“That’s no guarantee for me liking him,” he said. “He sounds more like you than anything.”

“Oh, I’m a lot like him, really. But I’ve got a quicker temper. If you had met my da and started to argue with him, he wouldn’t have budged an inch for all that he may have been terrified of you. More unmovable than a mountain sometimes, he was.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, up until the point where you would have inevitably insulted him and he would’ve whacked you with his cane.”

Thorin’s chuckle turned into a full-bodied laugh.

“Now that, master Baggins, would not have been a good idea,” he laughed. “Especially for an untrained hobbit.”

“Do not doubt the word of a Baggins,” Bilbo replied with a smug smirk. “I know my da, and he would have surprised you.” He leant back, crossing his arms over his chest. “He had this, this presence, you see, that just commanded respect, but without being stern. He never had to raise his voice, he was always so calm and gentle…”

“You miss him, don’t you?” Thorin asked, tilting his head.

“Of course I do.” Bilbo sighed deeply, but he still smiled. “It’s been fourteen years, but… I was still young, only three years past my majority, and suddenly it was just me and mum. And every little corner of Bag End held memories of him, enough so that I could nearly hear his voice sometimes. I miss him, and I will always miss him, but he can’t come back.” The hobbit closed his eyes, looking perfectly serene as he continued. “You need a steady presence in your life, one that will lead you in the right direction and not sneer at you if you do something wrong. That was my da for me. Gentle hands on my shoulders steering me in the right direction.”

Thorin gave Bilbo a long searching look.

“When you said you were helping us because we didn’t have a home,” he said slowly. “Was that you or your father speaking?”

“A bit of both, I expect,” Bilbo chuckled. “I’m not my father, but he would have been sympathetic to your cause. Both he and mum would have wanted me to continue on this journey, and here I am.”

“I suppose I had best thank your parents, then,” Thorin said, gazing at the garden with a soft smile. “They seem to be as much part of this company as you are.”

“Mum would have been. Tooks are adventurous, you know, and it was partly because of her blood that Gandalf chose me, I think. But da was a Baggins, less keen on adventure and keener on having some sense and being cautious. A winning combination, apparently.”

“Would you tell me more of them?”

“Perhaps I shall. Maybe it will inspire you to avoid becoming a warg’s chew toy in the future.”

“The common sense of a Baggins inspires that, does it?”

“I don’t know, but it might be good to find out, don’t you think?”

**Author's Note:**

> As stated, people have a tendency of talking about Bilbo's mother most of the time - after all, she was the remarkable Belladonna Took. But they tend to forget that it's stated in the actual book that Bilbo "looks and behaves exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father". I wanted to focus more on Bungo, and what sort of a person he might have been and what he meant to Bilbo, because let's face it - there are many aspects of both Bungo and Belladonna in Bilbo, and people seem to have a preference for focusing only on Belladonna.


End file.
